


Bearing Witness

by Opora



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Takes Care of Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opora/pseuds/Opora
Summary: This piece is sort of a continuation of some of the same ideas that led to me writing “Inextricable”. There were a couple of thoughts that I couldn’t get out of my head, even after writing the first piece, so I’ve developed one of them here, andI hope to expand on it soon. I was going to wait until I had finished it completely and post it as one continuous piece, but I’ve hit a bit of a wall, and I’m hoping that publishing the first bit will hold me accountable for finishing the rest of it. I will update tags and summaries as I go.
Kudos: 4





	Bearing Witness

Late afternoon settled in the cloudless sky. Eve emerged from the tangle of trees and stood on the bank of the river. The air was calm except for the occasional breeze that ruffled her hair against her bare shoulders and swirled silt across the surface of the water. She was only a few steps away from the cover of the canopy in the denser part of the garden, but in her mind she was already following the banks of the river beyond the garden wall.

_Beyond_. It was a shadow of a concept, playing at the edges of her consciousness. Here was the Garden. Here was abundance. Here was life. Here was all they ever needed. But _beyond_… _beyond_ was out there. Just the fact that it existed at all, that the very same water that was now dancing over her feet and ankles carried life beyond this garden, beyond everything humanity had ever known, raised a question somewhere deep within her.

The Serpent was a few paces away, wrapped around the branch of a tree, nestled among the rich green of late summer leaves. Just below, hanging from the same branch, quivering from the weight of the Serpent and the Knowledge of what was soon to come, was an apple. Soon, it would become _The_ apple, but in that moment, it was simply an apple.

As Eve turned around, she saw the serpent, and froze.

His eyes--the mesmerizing gold of desert sand, stone-hard resin, fire--held her.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was _her_ eyes-- the all-too-familiar glint of questions hidden just below the surface, of latent rebellion ready to surface, of beyond whispered like a prayer-- that held _him_.

As she reached through the fruit-laden branches, she was suddenly strengthened by the clarity of her purpose. She was not thinking of rules or obedience or even loyalty. She was only thinking of the hazy concept of _beyond_ and her sharp desire to bring it into focus. She was unnervingly sure and deceptively powerful as she plucked the fruit from the tree.

Like a drop of blood from a sacrificial lamb, the apple stood out in sharp contrast to the greens and browns around it, a reminder that death is the means by which life continues to thrive.

Her breath caught.

Her eyes closed.

Her lips parted.

And this is the moment, that split second before everything changed.

(Six thousand years later, Crowley would think back on this moment. He would wonder how differently things might’ve gone if he had done something--anything--differently. Maybe this time he would. But in the end, he made the same choice he had made in the beginning. Somehow, he knew he always would.)

He could feel something shift just under the surface of the newly-created Earth. He could feel all the pain and sadness and longing; he could feel something darker, more sinister; he could feel it all, ready to emerge. He knew how this would end--and still, he stayed, because he knows what it is to feel the weight of humanity’s future on one’s shoulders.

Perhaps it was the enormity of the thing that seemed to make that moment last longer than all the others had so far, but eventually even that moment passed and faded into the small but growing pile of what the humans had begun calling _the past_.

He didn’t want to leave his branch--it was warm and comfortable and somehow it seemed like maybe if he stayed here, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the vast rip between _Before_ and _After_, edges still raw and smarting from the tear. There was a tear, though, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, and before long he felt the familiar pulse of self-doubt with a strong undercurrent of fear coming from another part of the garden. There was a low rumble (the kind that was felt more than heard) emanating from somewhere much deeper than he felt the humans were capable of reaching.

Without really meaning to, he found himself once again slithering over the fault line of some shaken foundation; the sort of tectonic shift that occurs when bits of soul begin to rearrange themselves without permission.

Whatever Crowley was expecting to find at the epicenter of such disruptive chaos, it certainly was not the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Crowley had not been aware that Angels’ souls could rearrange themselves at all, and he was certain Heaven wasn’t handing out permission for that sort of thing.

Crowley was not used to being in such close proximity to holiness. It took a moment, but when his eyes adjusted to the high levels of celestial light, he noticed immediately that something was missing: the empty space where the sword should have been was glaring brighter than any flame ever could have.

Crowley’s reassurance was automatic, reflexive. The angel did his best to show Crowley that his words had been a salve, but Crowley could feel the familiar sting prickling just beneath the surface. Crowley was going to make a comment about treating symptoms instead of causes, but made a joke instead--or tried to, anyways. And in the very same breath, he swore he would not leave this angel, because he knows what it is like to frantically search for the line in the sand between right and wrong and to desperately hope he hasn’t crossed it.


End file.
